People seem to fall into one of two camps: there’s folks who map out their mileage to the last tenth of a mile, cruising into the gas station on a wing and a prayer and the fuel light burning brightly on the dashboard. Then there’s the rest of us.

I’m a rest of us kind a girl.

I’m a the gas tank is half full, better start thinking about when to get gas, then watch the needle like a hawk as it drops ever so slowly toward the E for Empty kind of girl. My gas gauge hitting 1/4 tank is the rough equivalent of lighting the fuse on a firework then jumping out of my skin as I wait for it to explode in my face.

Can you tell I get a little stressed out by the idea of running out of gas? Because I do. A lot. Like, A LOT a lot.

Ahem.

Then there’s what I can only call lackadaisical, c’est la vie, it’ll all work out in the end sort of people. The ones who see their tank as half full, not half empty. Folks who never in their whole life considered the possibility that the moment they’re driving on fumes they might be caught more than 30 miles from a functioning gas station or their card might unexpectedly decline or it might not be safe to stop.

I admire the laissez-faire attitude. I think their cortisol levels are definitely at a more reasonable level than my own.

But I cannot relate.

Linda hosts Stream of Consciousness Saturday. This week’s prompt is “full/empty.” Use one, use ’em both, use ’em any way you’d like. Bonus points for getting them both into your post. Have fun!